Okay, you already know Chapter One: the fabulous Kelz bought me a worm farm for Christmas. Much joyful noise was make by yours truly, and only a bit of grumbling and knashing of teeth from Husbandly One.
Chapter Two: the worms weren't really bonding with their new digs. The fabulous Ilex of Homesteading In A Condo told me this is very common. The best thing to do was take the cover off the bin and leave them in a room with the lights on for 24 hours or so, really make them dig in to the new bedding (the worms hate light.) The only thing she cautioned, though, was that I not turn off the lights while the lid was off, because they would escape the bin and end up all over my house.
(Cue ominous music now, by the way.)
Chapter Three: I got home from work this afternoon and went to check on the bin. I got to the bottom of the stairs, and realized there was no light shining under the closed door....
I SHRIEKED, I swore, and lunged for the door, imagining worms dripping from every surface. Husbandly One was upstairs and clearly heard my racket, because he called down, "What's wrong??"
"Nothing! Don't come down here!!"
Smooth, Irma. Because of course he came pounding down the stairs and was with me within seconds.
Miracle of miracles of MIRACLES, all the worms were still in their bin. Well, I mean, I assume they're all in the bin -- it's not like they have names -- but I didn't see any evidence of any worms outside the bin....and believe me, I checked everywhere!
The moral of all this is that, while the worms are my exclusive domain in the house, and taking care of them will always be my responsibility, sometimes I need to tell Husbandly One what I'm doing with them. He was, in fact, the one who turned off the light in the room last night, never dreaming for a second it was on for a reason, or what could have happened in the dark.